


The Brown Sister

by primeideal



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Book 8: The Path of Daggers, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23736469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal
Summary: The Amyrlin seeks counsel from an unlikely ally.
Kudos: 3





	The Brown Sister

Almost Takima longed for the stifling heat of Salidar. Almost. If she was going to teach novice classes, she had no desire to trek about in ice and slush to get to the makeshift tents that doubled as classrooms. Teaching initiates to ignore the cold was no longer a luxury; it was an obligatory lesson, that came before history or etiquette.

But there _were_ classes to teach. Full classes, with more novices than the Tower had seen in decades! That in itself would be worth making camp on what passed for a frigid border.

Of course, the cost of having such large classes was that most of the novices would never have been taught in the Tower as it had been. Why, Sharina Melloy was sixty-seven years old, older even than Aledrin and Kwamesa! True, their appointments as Sitters had hardly been under usual circumstances, but they _were_ the true Hall. She had to tell herself that.

Takima also told herself that there were worse places for a grandmother of sixty-seven to be than land neither Murandy nor Andor could be bothered to survey. Dragonsworn ran wild in Ghealdan, and rumor had it that monsters from across the ocean tormented the west coast. If she, if any of them, could be taught Healing, Cloud Dancing, even the Amyrlin's secret Traveling, it might be a shield against the battles to come.

Lelaine seemed less interested in conspiring with Takima than before, though that may have been because Takima's voice held little weight with Romanda. There was no need to advise the Amyrlin, after all, on matters of war. And war was what loomed beyond the snow. Unfathomable, yet near at hand.

Takima was turning to return to her "quarters" after an unproductive lesson, trying to teach a gaggle of grown women how to meditate, when the Amyrlin raised her hand in greeting. She seemed to be making her way back from Bryne's encampment. "A moment, Daughter?"

"Of course," said Takima.

The Amyrlin looked about as if just apprehending the cold. "Perhaps inside might be more pleasant."

"Certainly, Mother." Takima hastened back to the class-tent, the Amyrlin following behind, neither dawdling nor hurried.

The Amyrlin glanced around the tent. Perhaps she was recalling her own novice lessons, more than one of which Takima had taught. "Say no more than you wish," she said. "We all have more pressing truths, now, than these. Yet it occurred to me."

"Yes?"

"You did not--interrupt me, in the Hall, with your knowledge of the Law of War."

"No."

"But surely you knew what I intended."

"Yes."

"And you did not stand, for the lesser nor the greater consensus."

"There is a vast difference, Mother, between knowing the legal exigencies of war, and proclaiming the division of the Tower with fire in our hearts. The gap between theory and practice is nearly as stark as--well, I suppose I would say as it is with men who channel. Not every sister is prepared to take such a step."

"What is done is done," said the Amyrlin. "I am not here to chasten you for obeying your conscience, any more than I would Romanda or Saroiya."

If the woman expected Takima to speak, she had learned nothing. There was a difference between holding one's own, and talking for the sake of wagging one's tongue.

And perhaps that was exactly the point, as she pressed on. "Even though you disagreed, you did not warn the other Sitters what sort of power they would have been granting me. Why? You need not answer, but it has perplexed me."

"It was not my place to speak," said Takima simply. "As the Law counsels against letting any other question displace that of war, it would be--inopportune--to digress on the rules of order. Or penances or the novice book," she added.

"And you trusted me to manipulate the Hall?"

"You _are_ the Amyrlin Seat, Mother. I scarcely think you need me to tell you that." Whether it was Siuan Sanche or Sheriam or the Light knew who else, someone had forged the young woman into someone much older than the novice from west Andor she had lectured on the Trolloc Wars. "Besides, if I doubted your authority, I might as well run back to Elaida. Less fear of war there." _And better weather,_ she almost added.

"I thank you," said the Amyrlin. "Daughter." Light, the woman--a girl, then--had washed her feet in Salidar, asked her permission to serve the Tower. And she in turn had kissed her ring and asked to serve in turn. How could merely quoting esoteric regulations become so dear a service, so hard to imagine even a few months ago in exile?

"Is there anything else I may help you with, Mother?"

"I don't think so. Unless you know of any hidden depositories with knowledge of how to dispel migraines."

Takima smiled. "I'm sorry to say I didn't choose the Yellow."

There would be histories written of these days, she knew, if the world survived. Perhaps Takima herself might even live to write them. What would the world remember of Egwene al'Vere? That she had been young? Had journeyed to Salidar in one night, and--as miraculously, as fearsomely--to Tar Valon in another? Had read as little as any Accepted, but made the arcane imminent and left custom in dust?

"Everything is changing," said the Amyrlin, no doubt thinking of Leane. "Even selfish blessings do not seem impossible."

"Well, if Nisao finds some way for us to ache in your stead, I will not be the only one lining up to volunteer." 

If the Amyrlin was surprised at knowing Takima spoke truth, under the Oaths, she made no sign. "Take care, Daughter. In time we may all be in the same cookpot."

After the snows of the long-awaited winter, even a cookpot might be a welcome change. "I'll have done with weeping, by then."

"Yes," said the Amyrlin. "I daresay we all will."


End file.
